


I Believe In Angels

by Raphaela_Crowley



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Mamma Mia! (Movies)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Aziraphale Makes Fundamentalists Cry, Bodyswap, Crowley Has An ABBA Song Stuck In His Head, Crowley Loves the Bentley (Good Omens), Crowley Wants A Free Vacation, Dick Turpin Plays ABBA The Way The Bentley Plays Queen, Fluff and Humor, Fussy Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Hilarity Ensues, No Slash, Post-Aziraphale and Crowley's Bodyswap (Good Omens), References to ABBA, Sam Doesn't Know What An Autotuner Is, Sophie Wants To Know Who Her Dad Is, The Sound of Music References, Vacation, breaking into song, random singing, wackiness ensues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 11:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25350052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raphaela_Crowley/pseuds/Raphaela_Crowley
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale travel to a Greek island under false pretenses.Aziraphale's a bit worried about the morality of the situation, while Crowley just wants that blasted ABBA song to not be stuck in his head any more.Sophie S. wonders if the father she's never known is Sam Carmichael or just some guy in sunglasses named Anthony Cowwley.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Sam Carmichael & Donna Sheridan & Sophie Sheridan, Sam Carmichael/Donna Sheridan, Sky Rymand/Sophie Sheridan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	1. Part 1 of 2

_I Believe in Angels_

A _Good Omens_ and _Mamma Mia_ crossover fanfiction

(Yes, seriously)

Part **1** of **2**

Poised by the mailbox, Sophie Sheridan drew in a soft, shaky breath before holding out the two letters – two wedding invitations – in her hand, their crisp envelopes bleached the blue-white of skim milk in the moonlight.

"Sam Carmichael," she read aloud, placing the letter in the mailbox slot before looking down at the next. "Anthony Cowwley."

One of these two men was somebody she had been waiting to meet her entire life.

Her father.

She wasn't sure which one, of course, as she'd found both of their names in her mom's old diary – and she couldn't very well _ask_ – but if they both came, if they both appeared for her wedding, she felt certain she'd know right away which one was hers.

Their eyes would meet – maybe they'd even have the _same eyes_ – and she'd just know.

Maybe it was a long shot, but sometimes you just had to have faith.

* * *

The ferry to Kalokairi was chugging merrily along as a dark-haired demon in sunglasses elbowed his way through the other passengers, dragging a plump angel by the wrist behind him.

His elbow seemed to never actually make contact with the people he nudged, they just sort of moved automatically when he got close enough. If they weren't so tightly packed in an occult force would have been parting the crowd of tourists like the waters of the Red Sea.

"Out of the way," he was saying, from the corner of his mouth. "My grandad needs a place to sit." He motioned back at the angel.

The angel, whose name was Aziraphale, scoffed. " _Grandad_? We were formed on the same creative day! We're _exactly the same age_ , Crowley! Why are you trying to defraud these respectable people out of their seats?"

"Shush," said Crowley, making a man who was at present itching his crotch in a manner that looked anything _but_ respectable get up and take his oversized luggage with him. "Do you mind?" Not that it would have made any difference if he _did_. "My senile grandad gets confused if he doesn't sit down in the heat."

Aziraphale did at least look flushed, and the pale hair and sunblock-covered nose didn't hurt the illusion Crowley was going for. He was also carrying a large butterfly net and broad-brimmed hat from the 1800s, which did not make him look _old_ so much as _quirky_.

As they squashed into the seats, shoulder to shoulder, Crowley frowned at the net, now resting at the angel's feet. "We're going to a Greek island, not the Amazon Rainforest. Why the Heaven did you bring that?"

Aziraphale muttered something inaudible, even to the demon's keen ears, then said, more clearly, "I still don't quite understand what we're _doing_ here."

"I told you," Crowley sighed, "I got a letter from some woman named Donna Sheridan. Apparently I'm invited to her daughter's wedding – all expenses paid."

"But, my dear fellow, you don't _know_ anyone named Donna Sheridan. And then there's the small matter of you not being able to enter churches, and the fact that the letter was addressed to somebody named Anthony _Cowwley_."

"Look, from what I could tell, Donna hasn't seen Cowwley in over twenty years – for all intents and purposes I may as well be him."

"Except you aren't actually him."

"Details, angel. It's a free trip to Greece."

Aziraphale turned his neck to look at him sternly. "Bit dishonest, though, don't you think?"

"Ngh." Crowley grunted noncommittally. A few moments later, he began part-singing, part-humming something that sounded rather like ABBA's _Honey, Honey_ under his breath. " _You're a doggone beast..._ "

"I beg your pardon?"

Crowley groaned and rolled back his head. " _Ughhhhh_! No, not _you_. I've had that stupid song stuck in my head all week. It's a nervous tic at this point – I've just started singing it everywhere, don't even know when I'm doing it any more. Feel like I'm bloody _cursed_. It's humiliating."

Shortly before embarking on this trip, because of circumstances that – when you gave them much proper thought – really didn't make any sense, Crowley had ended up getting a ride from Tadfield to London via Newton Pulsifer's car, which was called, rather unbecomingly, Dick Turpin. And while anything in the Bentley became Queen after a fortnight, inside Dick Turpin everything apparently turned to ABBA.

Which had meant at least four different versions of _Honey, Honey_ before Crowley was returned to the safety and serenity of his ABBA-free flat.

"Oh, don't fret," Aziraphale said supportively, "I once had _Jesus, Can I Come And Stay At Your Place_ stuck in my head for two months – this too shall pass."

"Wasn't that song by the fundamentalist you made _cry_?" Crowley laughed. "The one on television?"

"I didn't make _him_ cry." Aziraphale grimaced. "Just, well, some of his camera crew. I'd been discorporated, was only trying to figure out where I _was_! And I didn't tell them anything that wasn't God's honest truth. _They_ were the ones talking about being lifted into the air and sneering down at people dying. I simply told them it wasn't going to happen."

"I have it on video," Crowley informed the angel cheerfully, _Honey, Honey_ momentarily forgotten in his mirth. "I swear if you pause it _just right_ , you can see the exact moment he becomes an atheist." He laughed again, a couple of tears slipping out from under his sunglasses. "Ah. Good old Marvin O. Bagman – I love that guy. The stuff he had on his show...you couldn't make it up... It's _priceless_."

" _Er_..." moaned Aziraphale. If he could have lifted them, if he wasn't packed in like a sardine, he'd have brought his hands to his face and buried it in them.

They were silent for a little while, until Aziraphale said, "Oh, I _do_ hope the place we're staying has a respectable laundry service – my handkerchiefs need regular cleaning."

"Oh, come on, you saw the brochure," said Crowley, not bothering to argue the point that Aziraphale was probably the very last person on earth who still used monogrammed handkerchiefs unironically, and thus the last who had any need to routinely wash them, "it's a fancy tourist hotel – I'm sure they've got everything. Stop worrying."

They didn't know it, but, across the boat, seated on the other side, were Donna's best friends, Rosie and Tanya.

And, towards the back, leaning over the railing to get sick in the water rather than on the ferry itself, was the other man Sophie invited to her wedding whom her mother had not seen in twenty years, Sam Carmichael.

Despite feeling ill, Sam was counting himself rather lucky to be onboard – he'd almost missed the boat.

* * *

"Excuse me, do you know where I could find Donna Sheridan?" Sam Carmichael tapped Aziraphale's shoulder because – even in his most casual, sweaty state – he looked the most like somebody in charge, while the copper-haired man with him in the dark glasses looked more like someone who was there to case the joint.

"Look, Crow–" Aziraphale started, then rolled his eyes at Crowley's nearly imperceptible head-shake. "I mean _Cowwley_... He's a friend of Donna's as well."

"Not exactly." Sam winced. "I haven't seen her in twenty years."

"Let me guess," said Crowley. "You got an invite out of the blue to her daughter's wedding?"

"How did you know?"

Crowley sniffed, then shrugged. "Same thing happened to me."

"Oh, good lord," muttered Aziraphale, still highly uncomfortable with this whole deception.

"You knew Donna back when I did?" Sam smiled hesitantly at Crowley.

"Yep."

"I just wish we could locate her," Aziraphale sighed. "I'm boiling in this heat, and honestly that ferry ride's made me peckish."

"And this is?" Sam asked, indicating the angel.

"Oh, right. This is my associate, Mr. Fell," Crowley told him. "He's my plus one."

There was a rustling behind them as a blonde girl – tiny wisp of a thing, who couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty – carrying crates placed a load down and cheerfully asked if she could help them.

They turned, the three of them, at the same time. Sam removed his sunglasses; Crowley, for obvious reasons, did not.

"We're here about the wedding," Crowley told her.

"Sam Carmichael," Sam introduced himself.

The girl's eyes darted to his face, then to Aziraphale's and Crowley's. She ruled Aziraphale out of what she was searching for almost immediately, despite his general attractiveness – it was just the sort of impression he gave off.

"You must be Anthony Cowwley." Her eyes rested on Crowley, searchingly.

"Oh, good, you _are_ expecting us." Aziraphale smiled broadly. "I don't suppose we could see our rooms now?"

"Wait a moment," said Sam, brightening, "are you Donna's daughter? You look so familiar."

She gave a little curtsy, cheeks reddening. "I'm Sophie."

"Congratulations, young lady!" said Aziraphale, with genuine good will. "I hope all goes well with your matrimonial plans, dearest Sophia."

"Yes, absolutely," said Crowley, more offhandedly, reaching for his luggage – a single black bag with a shoulder strap. "Now, we'll be in our rooms, if anyone needs us." He nodded at Aziraphale, who was bending down to gather his own luggage and random butterfly net. "Come on, angel."

" _Angel_?" laughed Sophie. She had been, she clearly thought, perfectly correct in her assumptions.

"Er," said the aforementioned angel.

"Yes, well, Mr. Cowwley has a point." Sam motioned at the rustic hotel behind them. "I'm sure we'd all like a chance to freshen up."

Sophie blanched. " _No_!"

Aziraphale frowned. Crowley looked put out. Sam just blinked.

"I mean, yes, but come this way." She waved dramatically, motioning for them to follow her into a dark space which, once entered, looked more like a medieval dungeon than a nice place to stay. "Come on!"

They complied, if a little grudgingly. Only Sam seemed intrigued. The demon and angel were grumbling under their breaths considerably and dragging their feet.

Soon enough they were outside again, and being taken to what appeared to be an old goat house.

As Sophie nudged them through two warped doors, and shut them carefully behind her, Sam finally protested, "Where's Donna?"

"If Donna turns out to be a _goat_ ," muttered Aziraphale to Crowley, "I'm going to–"

"Shut up!" he hissed back.

"Up you go," Sophie told them, pointing to a ladder taking them up to a trapdoor.

In the threadbare room prepared there were exactly _two_ beds.

"I'm sorry," Sophie said, when she climbed up behind them all. "I didn't know if either of you were bringing company. But that's all right, isn't it?" She gave the couple a perky, hopeful smile. "You two can share."

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look to kill. " _This_ ," he sighed wearily, dropping his luggage with a _thud_ and splaying his fingers emphatically, "is _nothing_ like the brochure."

"Can we see _Donna_ now?" insisted Sam, more concerned with her than the rooming situation.

Sophie's smile widened. " _I_ sent the invites. My mom doesn't know anything."

" _Wot_?" exclaimed Crowley.

Sam brought his hands to his face and groaned deeply.

"My sentiments exactly," muttered Aziraphale, taking a step forward and almost tripping over his own net.

"It's a surprise for her," explained Sophie; "two of her old friends are going to be at my wedding!"

"Hang on, Sophie," spluttered Sam, nudging past Aziraphale. "I can't be here. The last time I saw your mother, she said she never wanted to see me again."

"Well, I'm sure _you_ and Donna parted on fine terms, Cowwley?" Aziraphale couldn't resist twisting the knife in just a little.

Crowley made a mocking face at him.

Sophie seemed not to notice. "That was years ago," she pleaded with Sam. "Please! It would mean a lot to me."

"Why?" asked Sam.

"Listen, both of you, when I sent the invites it was a longshot you'd even reply. Now you've come all this way for a wedding. Surely there must have been some special reason for you to be here."

" _I'm_ only here because _he_ dragged me." Aziraphale pointed at Crowley sullenly. "And he's only here because he wanted a free holiday."

"Nonsense, I miss Donna desperately." Crowley pouted exaggeratedly.

"Right, then. What's her middle name?" Aziraphale demanded.

" _Shut up_."

"You are a little minx," Sam said to Sophie, backing up and sitting down in a lawn chair he located in a corner. "You're just like your mother."

"Speak of the devil, Cro–Cowwley." Aziraphale's senses felt a presence encroaching. "I think your Donna is very nearby."

Sophie put her hands over her mouth – she could hear her mother's off-beat crooning outside the goat house almost before the angel finished speaking.

Below, the doors creaked open.

"I'm gonna go," Sophie decided, her voice gone frantic. "But I've left a present for both of you. Under the pillows."

Sam drew his out, it appeared to be a book of some kind, which got Aziraphale's attention. "What's this?"

"It's the new thing we're doing for the hotel. My fiancée's idea. Skye. He's brilliant. It's got dates and times in it. When something you like happens on the trip, you put a little check." She flicked her hand in the air, demonstrating writing. "Then, when you go, we can figure out what you were doing at the time, and have more great stuff like whatever made you happy for the next guest."

"So it's a _survey_." Crowley snorted, unimpressed. "How innovative."

Sophie didn't catch the sarcasm. "Oh, I know! And there are comment sections in the back, where you can share anything you like."

" _I_ don't get one?" Aziraphale looked rather glum. No room, no food, no proper laundering station, and now no notebook.

"I'm sorry," Sophie told him. "If Anthony had mentioned he was bringing you–"

"You can have mine," Crowley told him, reaching under the pillow and handing it to the angel. "I'll just steal Sam's later."

Sam – thinking he was joking (which he most certainly was not) – chuckled. "Funny."

"Don't tell anyone I invited you – _bye_!" Sophie made a dash for the window and began climbing out, slamming the windows behind her.

"Sneaky child," said Aziraphale. "You're sure she isn't _yours_ , dear?"

"I know you're kidding," said Crowley, "but honestly, she's way too small for that – remember the Nephilim?"

Aziraphale shuddered. "All too vividly. Ugly, ugly children."

"And _big_ ," Crowley added emphatically. "Most of all big. I still remember playing nanny to Ligur's enormous monsters before the flood. _Sophie's_ tiny as a nightingale."

Sam, utterly lost, began to unpack his things.

"Hmm, her father must work at the hotel, too," Aziraphale guessed. "Maybe we'll meet him."

* * *

"Do you hear singing?" Crowley forced the window's shutters open and tried to locate the source of something that sounded uncannily like a chorus version of being in Newt's car for too long.

"Don't be silly." Aziraphale was perched on the edge of their bed, rummaging through his luggage, searching in vain for anything edible.

"Somebody _is_ singing _Mamma Mia_ ," Crowley insisted, cupping a hand to his ear and leaning forward like the Grinch after stealing Christmas. "You're telling me neither of you can hear that?"

" _Right_ ," laughed Sam. "Somebody is randomly singing _Mamma Mia_ on the roof of this goat house and the rest of the island is providing the chorus."

" _Ahhhhh_!" A middle-aged blonde woman appeared, seemingly falling from the ceiling between Aziraphale and Sam's beds.

Thanks to a quick miracle on Aziraphale's part, she landed safely, hitting an old grey mat.

"Oh, goodness!" cried Aziraphale, rushing over to help her.

"You always knew how to make an entrance, Donna." Sam's tone was almost dreamy.

Donna took Aziraphale's plump hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

Crowley sauntered over and lowered his sunglasses. "You probably don't recognise me. I'm Anthony."

As if in a trance, Donna murmured, "Anthony, it _is_ you!"

Aziraphale clicked his tongue in disapproval. _Tisk tisk._ Hypnotizing respectable business women! When _would_ Crowley learn?

Satisfied with his work, Crowley pushed his glasses back into place, giving her a serpentine grin.

Donna seemed thrilled at first, laughing that Anthony was welcome, and asking with no notable malice who Aziraphale was, before she noticed Sam and her friendly face closed off.

" _You_ can't be here," she growled. "Who said you could stay in my old goat house?"

"Greek woman," Sam came up with, struggling not to implicate Sophie. "She said you were full but we could stay here."

"Why are you here?" Donna snapped.

"I just wanted to see the island."

" _Ugh_! D'you know what? I was cheated by you – and I think you know when!" cried Donna, lifting the trapdoor and dropping down the ladder.

"Lovely seeing you again!" Crowley called after her.

Aziraphale elbowed him. "Show a little compassion. Can't you see the poor woman is in shock?"

* * *

This time, Aziraphale could hear music and singing – it wasn't just Crowley being whiny.

The angel edged out of the old goat house, Sam somewhere back inside but Crowley close behind him, also watching the unfolding spectacle as a group of singing women were forming a dance line and parading happily down the island belting out about how they could dance and jive.

Several women who had been working were abandoning ladders and paints and in one case a huge bundle of sticks which the hulking personage tossed aside like rubbish.

Aziraphale was so excited by what looked like fun (he almost forgot how hungry and tired he was), that he unwittingly knocked Crowley backwards into a bush in his haste to join the dancing figures.

Too bad they weren't gavotting. What they were doing, in fact, hardly looked like _real_ dancing at all – more akin to what Crowley sometimes did after a few glasses of wine.

All the same, they appeared to be headed down to the sparkling water by the docks and the sun was still shining and everything was so captivatingly beautiful.

Aziraphale didn't even notice he was the only man-shaped creature present as he followed the group off the edge of the docks and jumped in with a merry splash.

Normally, he would have been a bit more conscientious about his clothes, only he'd bought these especially for the trip and had already sweat clean through them – a little water, especially water so clear you could see the sand at the bottom, wouldn't hurt them.

When he surfaced, he caught a look of surprise on Donna's face, suddenly remembered Crowley, and began to walk sheepishly – the music now quite ended – back towards the hotel.

Donna was at his side. "Um, Mr. Fell, was it? You do realise we were trying to do, like, a hen's empowerment thing, right?"

Aziraphale was puzzled. "Is that like the chicken dance?"

Donna blinked. "No, I meant it was supposed to be wo–" She shook her head. "You know what, never mind. Glad you could join us." Cackling to herself, she reached for a grouting gun. "I've got to take care of that crack in the courtyard."

"What crack?"

"Oh, this dumb crack showed up in my courtyard, real eyesore, right where there was a ceramic depiction of a dolphin."

"Kind of fish?"

"I'm pretty sure it's a mammal." She hoisted the grouting gun and struck a pose. "Anyhow, I've got to spackle that puppy up."

"Is your husband helping you keep up the hotel?"

Donna laughed long and loud. "Husband? _Please_. Spare me. I don't have a husband. Too much trouble. I had two boyfriends once, a long time ago – and that was _plenty_."

"Anthony and Sam?"

Donna's eyes narrowed, but only slightly. She was finding she quite liked Aziraphale, in spite of her somewhat uncomfortable introduction to him. "Yeah, that's right."

A thought occurred to Aziraphale, and he swelled with compassion and pity. "Donna, can I ask you something?"

"If you must." Her tone was not curt, but one got the sense she had an idea what was coming.

"Is either Anthony or Sam your daughter's father?"

Holding the grouting gun defensively, she opened her mouth to demand how he knew about Sophie, even though she wasn't truly surprised, then closed it again. There were tears shining in her eyes.

"Oh, my good lady," said Aziraphale, reaching out and patting her arm consolingly, now that he'd worked out exactly why Sophie had sent out random invites to two complete strangers – one of whom was an imposter. "It's all right."

"No." She choked back a sob. "It's not. How could it be? I was such a little slut, and now..."

"Well, honestly, there's no call for that sort of language, and I'm sure you were no such thing."

Donna pushed back her blonde hair and sniffled. "You're sweet, Mr. Fell. But I really, _really_ was. And I don't want to ruin my daughter's wedding over it."

"I bet," said Aziraphale gently, "your daughter loves you and doesn't care one wit about it."

That was if you discounted the fact that Sophie was inviting potential fathers to her wedding willy-nilly and not telling her mother about it, of course.

"You really think so?"

"I know so! Buck up. It's not so bad as it seems."

"Thanks." They'd come to the place in the courtyard with the crack. "Just lemme fix this."

"Donna, what's that?" Aziraphale pointed to something random.

"What? Where?" She looked, not seeing the angel's little finger flicking behind her back. "What am I looking at?"

"Oh, sorry – I thought I saw something. Must have been a trick of light, what." He shifted, pulling his hands behind his still-damp back and looking as modest as possible.

Shrugging, Donna prepared to begin working, only to discover the crack was gone. "How weird is that? There _was_ a crack there – the earth friggin _moved_! Everybody here felt it when it happened."

"Perhaps it's magic," Aziraphale couldn't resist saying, with a sparkle in his eye.

"You know what?" Donna brightened, warming to this. "That's what's so strange. This hotel was once supposed to be the site of Aphrodite's fountain – if you drank the water, you were supposed to find true love and perfect happiness."

"Must be that, then," Aziraphale conceded for the sake of cheering her up, pumping a fist in the air. "A little magic must be left hereabouts."

Donna reached out and patted his cheek. "You are such an angel, do you know that?"

* * *

Sam had gone some place – probably to soak in the paradise and think about whatever circumstances had led him to living in the goat house of a woman who was furious with him, all while trying to hide the fact that her daughter had invited him.

Crowley had crawled out from the bushes, initially rather put out, and made his way back to the empty goat house.

His clothes were covered in little prickly pieces of bush and bramble. He opened his bag to find something else. There weren't many clothes in there, since he hardly ever bought proper clothes – his suits weren't real, he just sort of made them appear. But this one, created by occult powers or otherwise, was quite ruined. For the time being, he slipped into a Queen concert T-Shirt and pair of skivvies.

When Aziraphale turned up again, he was going to give that angel a piece of his mind – getting overexcited and shoving him into a bush! What was that mad principality _thinking_?

Crowley wasn't one for cleaning, but he _was_ one for things _being_ clean. His own flat was spotless, gleaming white from every angle. And if Aziraphale's bookshop was a bit more lived-in, he at least knew the angel was hygienic. Sophie had obviously tried her best, God – Satan – _somebody_ – bless her, airy little dunderhead that she was. Yet the place still wasn't particularly tidy.

The demon located a broom and began to sweep the dust and cobwebs off the floor and out of the corners.

That frustratingly catchy song was running through his head again.

" _Honey, Honey... Hold me, baby... You look like a movie star...and I know just who you are..._ " He spun around, hopping lightly over the broom handle. " _Something, something..._ " Somewhere he lost track of the actual words to the song. "Um, _Beast_!" That was in there, somewhere. Awkwardly twerking, Crowley sang into the front of the broom like it was a microphone. " _Honey, Honey, nearly kill me...uh-huh..._ " He pivoted on his heels and sunk a little lower to the floor. " _I heard about you before, I wanted to know som'ore..._ "

Unobserved by Crowley, who was now sliding across the dusty floor on the soles of his bare feet, the trapdoor opened, Aziraphale's platinum head peeking through.

The angel's blinking eyes, having to adjust to the dim light despite their celestial perfection, eventually landed on a singing and (badly) dancing Crowley.

Swinging back around, Crowley's eyes locked with Aziraphale's. The broom clattered to the floor.

"You saw _nothing_!" he hissed.

Aziraphale was barely holding back his laughter as he climbed up, caught his breath, and walked over to the bed, where he withdrew the notebook Sophie had left. He then, in a rather pert and slightly smug movement, uncapped a fountain pen and glanced pointedly at his demon friend.

Crowley caught on, his uncovered eyes growing visibly more snake-like. "Angel, don't you _dare_ put a checkmark in there for this!"


	2. Part 2 of 2

_I Believe in Angels_

A _Good Omens_ and _Mamma Mia_ crossover fanfiction

(Yes, really)

Part **2** of **2**

Aziraphale eased down onto the tartan picnic blanket and – with a trepidation-filled wince – opened the hamper he and Crowley had carried down to the beach.

There was still enough daylight left for a meal outside to be enjoyable, but the contents of the hamper were far from promising.

"You know, Crowley," sniffed Aziraphale, "we can acquire questionably safe bologna sandwiches and boxed wine at _home_ – in _London_. There was no need to defraud some poor woman and come all the way here for this."

"Stop complaining and enjoy the view," Crowley sighed, sprawling and leaning back on his elbows. "We've got clear skies, golden sand, and blue ocean all around us."

Aziraphale gingerly pealed back the wrapper over one of the sandwiches. "My sandwich appears to have a hair in it."

"Pick it off, then."

Tossing the sandwich aside with a shudder, Aziraphale snapped, "And let's talk about something that's come to my attention in the last hour or so – Donna's friend Rosie is _stalking_ me."

"Angel," Crowley sighed anew, cocking his head at his friend, " _everyone on this island_ is stalking us. We can't go anywhere without some local shoo-bop-bopping or La-La-laing at us." Sitting back up, Crowley crossed his legs and, jackknifing forward, ripped off one of his snakeskin shoes. The shoe in his hand went transparent, like it had been shed from him, but retained its hard form and shape. " _Observe_." The demon hurled the clear shoe at a random spot under the pier behind them, where it struck someone hiding there who let out a yelp. "I've decided not to let it spoil this holiday."

"Well, what about the fact that you're only here because Sophie thinks you might be her father?" the angel said pointedly.

"Yes, that is unfortunate," Crowley had to admit – maybe he wouldn't have come if he'd known that. Even for a demon, that was low. But he was here now, without having realised how deep the deception might have to go, no good wasting it.

" _Unfortunate_?" cried Aziraphale, taking a plastic drinking-glass from the hamper and pouring himself some of the boxed wine. "My dear fellow, it's _cruel_."

"We don't know that Anthony Cowwley would have shown up anyway – at least she's got a fifty-fifty chance with Sam being here. That's more than most people get."

" _Ugh_!" Aziraphale smacked something on his wrist. "I'm being eaten alive!" He stood up. "I'm going to run back and fetch some ointment before my entire wrist swells." His hand suddenly flew to his neck. "Drat – another one. B–" He smiled shakily. "Bad bugs."

No sooner had Aziraphale vanished, muttering to himself as he climbed up the rocky pathway above the shoreline, than Sophie came skipping along in a blue swimsuit. "Anthony!"

"Hi."

"Where's Mr. Fell?"

"Getting ointment," said Crowley, reaching up and shifting his sunglasses more securely onto his face. "For his bug bites. Have you been bitten by any bugs?"

"No," said Sophie, shrugging.

"Neither have I. Apparently they all buzz around waiting for _him_."

"I've just been talking to Sam – he was telling me about the summer he spent with my mom."

"How nice for you."

"Yeah." She sat where Aziraphale had been a moment ago. "I was wondering... You could tell me how you met Mom in Paris, couldn't you?"

"I don't meet and tell."

" _What_?" she laughed. "I'm not sure that's a thing. The phrase is _Kiss and Tell_." She appeared to be studying him for a moment. "You know, I've heard about people who literally wear suits every day of their lives – even at the beach. I never expected to meet one."

"That's me," he said, a touch grimly, reaching for Aziraphale's abandoned wine and chugging the entire glass in one go. "A professional." He burped. "Excuse me. Went down the wrong way."

Sophie laughed again.

"Listen, Sophie, I really think you should be spending more time with Sam."

"Sam's sweet, but I think he's more concerned with getting my mom's attention than talking to me right now." Sophie groaned, pushing back her hair. "She won't even look at him. I think he really thought she'd forgiven him when he got the invitation – I guess it was pretty awful, finding out it was just _me_."

"Nah, I think he was flattered either way."

"You can't tell me _anything_ about how you met my mom?"

"What does _she_ say?" Crowley thought perhaps he could bullshit his way through it, if Sophie gave him a lead – sort of like cold reading. Psychics did it all the time. How hard could it be?

Sophie's face crumbled. "She never mentioned you – I'm sorry – I lied about everything."

"How did you know about me, then?"

"I found her old diary."

"Ah."

"Please don't be mad, I just–"

"Hello, Sophie!" Aziraphale had returned, waving his arms at them as he approached the blanket. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Hello again."

"This wedding of yours, it's going to be catered, I take it?"

"Of course," Sophie assured him. "We're pulling out all the bells and whistles."

"Mr. Fell's not too keen on bologna," Crowley told her.

" _Sophie_!" shouted an unfamiliar voice as a young man came running around the corner.

"Skye!"

"Oh, right, there's going to be a _groom_ at this wedding," Crowley commented darkly. "Nearly forgot about him."

"Where have you been?" Skye exclaimed, skittering to a stop in front of them. "People have been arriving all afternoon. No one's seen you." He glanced over Sophie's shoulder. "Who're these blokes?"

"I'm sorry – I've been around the island. I just lost track of time." She paused, he waited. "Oh, right, and this is Anthony Cowwley and Mr. Fell."

Crowley waved.

" _Who_?" said Skye.

"You know how I said I wanted to find my..." She gripped his shoulders and pulled him a little ways off. "...My father?"

"Soph, we've been through this – you don't need a father."

"But, Skye, listen–"

His eyes widened. "You think that gay bloke's your dad?"

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder. "What gay bloke?"

Crowley shushed him.

" _No_ ," Sophie whispered, still too loudly, "the other one – the guy in the sunglasses."

Suddenly, Skye backed up and began to sing. " _I wasn't jealous before we met..._ "

"Um, what does that have to do with anything they were just talking about?" Aziraphale whispered to Crowley.

"Must be something in the water around here."

"Did they just forget we were right here?"

"It would appear so – look, Sophie's singing back at him now."

" _It was like shooting a sitting duck..._ "

Since it seemed that this little musical number might take a while, Aziraphale took out Crowley's (originally Sam's) checkmark notebook from the picnic hamper, curious as to if the demon – for all his optimism about this trip – had actually _liked_ anything that happened so far.

There was not a single mark. There was, however, a note in the comments.

_This is like the musical version of Maury._

" _Crowley_!" he protested, though his shriek of alarm was largely drowned out by the song happening not a foot away from them. "You can't write that!"

"Why not?"

Ignoring this, the angel waved his hand over the page so that the letters rearranged themselves.

_Like the musical version. Maury, of this. Is._

"Angel, that doesn't make any sense." Crowley made a face at him. "What am I, _Yoda_?"

"And it doesn't insult the entire Sheridan family either, so I do believe it's preferable."

Singing in chorus, Skye's stag party came marching along the beach in flippers and began flexing their muscles as they hopped along the docks.

"What is even happening here?" Aziraphale said, looking confused. "Where in blazes did _they_ all come from?"

It probably made as much sense as Donna and all the other island women's dance earlier, but honestly this looked much sillier. Perhaps one of _them_ was the sodomite Skye mentioned – though they all looked a bit too young to be a potential father for Sophie.

The entire group of young men waddled forward like penguins before jumping into the water.

"Crowley, do you think–" He stopped, eyes widened in horror.

Crowley had taken out _his_ checkmark book and was putting several large checks in this timeslot.

"Crowley, give me that! Don't add checks to my notebook!"

* * *

By the time Sophie had calmed Skye down, finished singing, and got back to the couple on the tartan blanket, the pair were grappling with each other, frantically rolling and wrestling, each threatening to discorporate the other – whatever _that_ meant.

She decided to leave them to it.

Maybe she'd go look for Sam again, if there was still time before her bachelorette party started.

* * *

When they returned to the goat house, Aziraphale was covered head to toe in sand, looking for all the world like a big powdered doughnut, and Crowley was drenched, water running off the sides of his suit and pooling onto the floor where he stood after climbing the ladder.

Sam was there, looking for something in his luggage. He turned and lifted an eyebrow at the two of them. "What happened to you guys?"

" _Picnic_ ," they grumbled in unison.

* * *

Aziraphale must have been getting to him, Crowley thought as he made his way through the dark towards Sophie's bachelorette party. Somehow, the angel had passed on a conscience to him, the way normal friends passed on colds and flu germs.

The demon decided he had better tell Sophie that he definitely was not her father – before she told more people than just her fiancée that she thought he was.

Maybe this wasn't the best time to bring it up, but it was better _now_ than on the day of the wedding – which was tomorrow.

He'd had a bit to drink, though he wasn't drunk – not yet, he wanted to at least be somewhat sober when he talked to Sophie – and he had left Aziraphale with the members of Skye's stag party who were (under hypnotic suggestion from Crowley) protecting him from Rosie, who for some reason wouldn't leave him alone. After singing on stage with Donna and Tanya, she'd immediately left the girls only party and made a beeline for the angel, loudly belting out the words to _Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!_ One had to admire her random, drunken determination.

Mentally cursing everyone he'd ever met, Crowley made his way towards the party, managed to get Sophie's attention, and signaled for her to follow him.

She did, skipping along merrily as she ran to his side.

"I need to tell you something."

"Yes?"

"I heard what you were saying to Skye earlier."

She gulped. "Oh, my God."

"God's got nothing to do with it."

"Anthony, I can explain."

"You've got nothing to explain," Crowley insisted. " _I_ have to tell you–"

Her rosebud mouth parted. "Oh... I know what you're going to say."

"Trust me, you have _no idea_ what I'm going to say."

"I do!" she cried. "You _are_ my dad, aren't you? And you suspected it all along, and _that's_ why you wouldn't tell me anything about you and Mom!"

" _Wot_?" He wondered if he took off his sunglasses right now, showed her his real eyes, and hissed, if she'd get it – if she'd understand he couldn't be her father. Perhaps that would be a bit overkill, though. Might make her faint. Questions would be asked. _Damn_.

"It's all right." Sophie threw her arms wide open. "I don't mind. I'm just so glad to finally know."

"Except you–"

"I know this must be weird for you, but I want us to be friends and to get to know one another – and..." Her eyes grew bigger and misty as she drew her arms in and clasped her hands together. "Will you give me away? Tomorrow? At my wedding?"

"I _really_ don't think that's a good idea."

"Please?"

"Sophie, you don't–"

"The only thing I've ever wanted was for my father to walk me down the aisle one day."

"You're sure it wasn't for your father to just give you a pen that can write underwater and toddle off?" Crowley asked hopefully. "Because I can do that."

"Of course not." Lips pursed, she placed her hands on her hips.

"Damn. Well, I mean, if it's really what you want, I suppose–"

"Thank you!" She leaped up and flung her arms around his neck, kicking up her feet. "Thank you so much!"

* * *

"Remind me again," said Aziraphale, slowly, leaning against the shadows behind the goat house, "how you got roped into giving away some girl who isn't your daughter – in a church you can't enter – because you wanted us to have a free holiday?"

Crowley just groaned.

"Can I say I told you so?"

"I do believe you just did, angel."

* * *

"Crowley! _Psst_! Cro- _lee_! Exactly how long," Aziraphale whispered urgently, sitting up in bed, "do I have to lie here with your feet up my nose?"

Crowley hissed back, face half-buried in a pillow that smelled slightly mildewy, "Until Sam falls asleep."

" _Sam_ can hear everything you're saying," called Sam from the next bed over. "And _Sam_ would also really like his notebook back at some point."

There was a slight rustle as Aziraphale sighed and nestled back under the blankets.

"Aziraphale, stop _hugging my feet_ , for Heaven's sake!" Crowley hissed, before gagging, as if the exclamation had left a sour tang in his mouth, and adding, "I can't believe I just said that."

"I'm _cold_ ," Aziraphale complained.

"It feels like small birds are nuzzling my ankles – _stop it_!"

Getting rather fed up, Sam flung back his covers and barked, "Look, I don't care what you guys are into – but can you please keep it down?"

"Perhaps we should all just stay up and watch television," Aziraphale suggested. "Donna _was_ nice enough to bring one in for us earlier."

"It's all Greek to me," sighed Sam, with a hint of humour in his tone.

"Okay, Sam. Let's just be clear. Who is the funny one around here?" snapped Crowley.

"Perhaps when you find him you could inform him of the current vacancy," Aziraphale simpered pertly. Then, "Well, there is _one_ channel that's in English."

" _Yeah_ ," growled Crowley, "the one playing _Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo_ on repeat."

"If either of you puts that on, I'm sleeping outside," Sam declared.

"We could watch _Titanic_ dubbed in Greek," Aziraphale suggested.

"I didn't like that movie in _English_ , angel," Crowley whined. "Don't make me watch it again."

"There's a VHS of _The Sound of Music_ around here somewhere," Sam told them.

" _No_!" shouted Crowley and Aziraphale as one.

"Calm down, guys, it was just a suggestion."

"Let's just all take a deep breath and–" Aziraphale began. "Crowley, you're doing it again."

" _Honey, honey, how you..._ " The demon stopped mumble-singing. "Shit."

* * *

Somewhere in the earliest morning hours, Crowley woke alone in his bed.

He spotted Aziraphale in a corner, curled up in a lawn chair beside a partially broken lamp which cast a warm circle of refracted rainbow and deep gold around him like a heavenly aura, contentedly reading a large book.

Smiling to himself, Crowley took out his – well, Sam's – notebook and made a very small, very neat check.

* * *

Crowley was still trying to work out what he was going to do about this whole mess, when he stumbled upon Sam standing in a doorway singing S.O.S. in a very guttural voice.

There was inexplicably background music, but it wasn't doing much to drown him out.

"Sam, let me ask you something."

He stopped mid-note, turning to look at Crowley. "Yes?"

"Have you _ever_ considered an autotuner?"

Sam blinked. "What's that?"

* * *

Wings out, Crowley and Aziraphale lounged on the roof above Sophie's room – inside, her mother was singing about letting her daughter go in a very sweet, carrying voice.

" _Slipping through my fingers all the time..._ "

Aziraphale's eyes were growing moist; Crowley appeared to actually be sniffling and holding back sobs.

"Crowley, dear, are you crying?"

" _Some of that we did, but most we didn't, and why I just don't know..._ "

"I miss..." choked Crowley. "I miss..."

"Oh..." Aziraphale put his arms around him, enfolding him in his wings. The angel vaguely wondered who Crowley was missing so desperately. Perhaps their Heavenly Mother Herself – _God_?

"I miss my _Bentley_ ," the demon finally got out brokenly, burying his face in Aziraphale's shoulder.

"Crowley! For pity's _sake_!"

Only _Crowley_ would hear a beautiful song about loving someone and letting them go – losing them forever to time as they aged and changed, whilst you never understood them, not really – and think about his _car_!

"Okay. I need to get over the car thing; I'll see the Bentley again soon."

"So what do you propose we do about this wedding?" Aziraphale asked him, releasing him from his embrace.

Crowley sat upright and straightened his tie. "It's obvious, isn't it? We swap."

"What?"

"We've done it before."

"Because Heaven and Hell were trying to _destroy_ us," Aziraphale pointed out. "That was rather an emergency."

"So's this – Sophie's got in her head that I've got to walk her down that damnable aisle."

Aziraphale looked anxious. "But, my dear, don't you think it should be Sam?"

"Actually, I think it should be _Donna_ ," Crowley told him. "But it doesn't matter what _I_ think, or what you think. It's Sophie's wedding."

"Fine," Aziraphale gave in, offering his hand. "Switch now."

* * *

There was something different about Anthony, Sophie thought, as the man she believed was her father helped her mother and the rest of the bridal party lift her up onto the back of a donkey.

He was sweeter, more effeminate. He actually _fluffed_ her dress slightly as he lifted her up.

Perhaps it was a father thing. Likely they all got a bit teary and soft on their daughter's wedding day – even if they'd only known them for less than forty-eight hours.

It was all going rather well, until they reached the church atop the rustic cliffside and Sophie realised her mother – and Sam – were missing.

"My mom!" cried Sophie as she got down from the donkey. "She's gone! I can't go in without my mom!"

The man she thought was Anthony Cowwley patted her hand. "I'm sure she'll be along."

Sophie sank into a little bench outside the church and stared into the sunset, thinking deeply. "My gosh."

"What is it?"

"Anthony, you can't give me away!"

"Er... Why not?"

"Because it should be my mom!" Sophie pressed her hands to her heart. "Just thinking for a second she might not be here – I don't want to let you down, I'm still so glad you're my Dad – but I've realised..."

"Oh, I see."

"You're not mad, are you?"

"Of course not."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you so much for understanding."

Somebody below the cliff shouted, " _Donna_!" a little over-dramatically (sounded like Sam).

Then Donna herself appeared.

Sophie's friends raced over. "Donna, there you are!"

Sophie stood up, her whole body relaxing as she exhaled deeply. All was well, and here was her mother, ready to give her away.

* * *

"So let me see if I've got this right," Crowley – back in his right body once more – said, as Aziraphale closed his suitcase and began to drag it and his butterfly net to the trapdoor. "Sophie was going to have her mother give her away – _Donna_ – but then she didn't get married – even though she had this whole wedding already in motion and loves Skye – but then Donna and Sam got married?"

"Yes, that's pretty much how it happened," Aziraphale told him.

"And then you freaked out and outed me as an imposter?" Crowley pressed.

"I was breaking up under the pressure!" Aziraphale's face went a deep crimson. "And there was all this family togetherness..." He waved his hands. "I couldn't pretend any more."

"And?"

"And..." Aziraphale dithered. "And...they didn't believe I was an angel in a demon's body posing as Donna's old boyfriend..."

"How surprising," said Crowley, insincerely.

"I do hope they've all done the right thing – I still don't quite understand why Sophie and Skye didn't get married. Donna tried to explain it to me – something about women power. Went right over my head."

"If we could understand, angel, we wouldn't be us."

"Ah. Truer words were never spoken." Aziraphale bent down to open the trapdoor while Crowley flung his bag over his shoulder. "We'd best be going or we'll miss the ferry out of this place."

"Was the food at least good afterwards?" Crowley asked as he climbed down the ladder after Aziraphale, landing lightly on his feet.

Aziraphale nodded. "Well, it was, and I was having a lovely time, until Sam started singing again."

"They do love their ABBA songs on this island – we should have Newt and Anathema visit here next summer."

"Anyway," Aziraphale continued, "I said, my dear fellow, you've quite made your point – please stop, there's a chap."

"Did he?"

"No, sadly." Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I had to explode a pipe under the ceramic dolphin to distract him from starting it up again."

"Was the party spoiled?"

"Not at all," Aziraphale was pleased to announce. "They thought it was magical – and they all paraded around dancing happily in questionable pipe-water."

Crowley began to laugh so hard his whole body shook.

"Well, honestly, I didn't have the heart to tell them the truth, not twice in one night."

"You bastard." Crowley slipped his arm around Aziraphale and led him out of the goat house and into the sunshine. "This is why I like you."

"What you did for Sophie was very sweet, you know."

Crowley frowned, pulling back his arm. "Shut up."

"It was." Aziraphale smiled and nudged him with his elbow. "And that's why I like _you_ , my dear."

* * *

Donna was going over the notebooks her guests left behind while she sat under the shade of an orange tree.

"Seems like everyone had a good time," she mused to herself. "They liked the sun, and the sand, and the food..." Her eyes landed on a succession of checkmarks on one page. "Mr. Fell _really_ liked it when the stag party ran by in flippers."

Donna set that book down and reached for Sam's.

"Hello, Donna." Sam came up behind her, bending over to kiss her neck. "What are you reading?"

"I'm just about to look at the comments in your guestbook."

"Oh, that's not mine," chuckled Sam. "I mean, it _was_ , but Anthony stole it."

" _Like the musical version. Maury, of this. Is._ " She furrowed her brow and squinted down at the page in disbelief and confusion. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

_The End_

(And I assume they all lived Happily Ever After)


End file.
